


This New Bond ~ or ~  Thar Be Fluff. More Specifically, the Fluffiest Fluff that Ever Fluffed.

by Dart



Series: MI6 Cafe December Anon Prompt Gift Exchange [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Kid Fic, Lichen, M/M, Moor, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Young James, Young Q
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:48:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21820450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dart/pseuds/Dart
Summary: James Bondwants.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: MI6 Cafe December Anon Prompt Gift Exchange [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571083
Comments: 32
Kudos: 75
Collections: Mi6 Cafe Prompt Fills





	1. This New Bond

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Zephyrfox for looking over an early draft and encouraging me. Be assured, all of the mistakes and wtf’ery are my own. 
> 
> The wordcount cutoff for this challenge is 3000. So, here is a sub-3000 word story. But there is more to be told, so if you want to read more, subscribe or remember to come back for updates. But you can consider it complete, if you want it to be.

He had been so closed off since his parents died, but James _wanted._

It was a bone-deep relief when he was, at long last, allowed to stay with the Kincades except for holidays abroad with his Aunt Charmian. It hurt to stay in the lodge, but not as much as it hurt to be away. And his aunt made such a fuss about tracking mud and tending to _beasts,_ about being a _gentleman,_ about eradicating the _roughness_ out of him. _Proper._ He’d just as soon launch Proper into the sky and see how many holes he could shoot in it before it touched the Earth.

There was always a pull to be _home._ His senses could be calmed here. James practically lived on the moor and with the hounds and horses. Keeping his hands busy with touch—the worn metal of the bail of the water bucket digging into his calloused hands as he filled and carried, filled and carried; the layer of hair, as coarse as a badger’s, over the soft dense undercoat giving way to the smooth and silky summer coat as he groomed Cedar, his Highland Pony; the lichen-crusted rocks on the moor; the stone slabs in front of the hearth, worn smooth from centuries of faithful use.

His ears were always listening over the squelch of his Wellies for the joyful, bubbling call of a curlew in flight, the plaintive two slow notes of the golden plover, the barest whisper of Kincade sneaking up on him, the breathing of his pony with his ear pressed to her side.

His nose could place him—within the day, within the year—by the scent of heather in full bloom, of new and old hay, scones ready to be taken from the oven, his mother’s daffodils and roses. His mouth would fill with the taste of fresh cream when the wildflowers were blooming, of sweet winey blaeberries with their slight edge of bitterness, the citrusy _green_ of wood sorrel, the few tenacious tears not blown off by the wind that trickled down _salty_ to his tongue.

James had very many chores as a boy at loose ends, particularly a grieving boy, but Kincade left him plenty of time to explore the moor. The old man could see the lad honing himself. He didn’t know for what, but once a Bond had decided, had dug his boots in, there was no dissuading. When he doubted, his wife would say, “Jamie’s grounding himself. He’ll find what he needs.”

And every day, James _wished._ He couldn’t even put it into words. He just felt it in his bones.

One Friday on the cusp of Spring giving way to Summer, of school giving way to freedom, when everything got to be too much, he stormed home from school and went to throw himself down in his favorite sheltered spot, beneath a silver birch. James sank back to his heels and looked. Right in his prime lazing spot was an egg! A very large egg. Comically large really. He wasn’t sure he could lift it. Larger than a lamb. James looked around. He’d never heard of a bird that could lay an egg this big. Seeing nothing, he dropped into a squat and tentatively held out a hand.

“Hello there,” James said in the voice he used on reluctant animals. Not that any animals stayed reluctant for long around a determined James. He gently ran his index finger along the smooth and glossy light blue green shell. “Still warm. Well, that’s good.”

James now ran both hands along the shell, checking for, well, he didn’t know really—checking for cracks he supposed. They might be easily missed what with all the brown and grey markings.

“Aren’t you pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so… _fancy.”_ Satisfied it was intact, he leaned in for a sniff. “I’m not going to give you a lick. Because that’s gross. Even for me.”

James sat back on his heels and thought. Best not to tell Kincade, lest he not be allowed to keep it. And he was determined to keep it. The old gamekeeper respected the balance of nature and was wary of the fae. And although James had never seen conclusive proof of faeries, giant eggs didn’t just magically drop out of the sky.

James might get away with camping outside a night or two, but not indefinitely. He’d already tried that when the big old creaky lodge got to be too much. The egg needed to be kept warm. Well, nothing for it, he’d have to lug it inside. It took a couple of tries to get his arms wrapped around it, just so. He needed enough leverage to lift it, but gently and without losing ahold of it. 

When James finally had it lifted securely, he gave the mostly smooth surface a nuzzle with his cheek and said. “I’ll take care of you. You’re coming home with me.”

The old lodge was rather chilly, even in summer. James normally didn’t think much of it, he was used to it, but the egg, the egg was fragile. And it needed to stay warm, right? All eggs did. So, that night, James put the egg in the bath tub with him. A warm bath was the warmest thing at Skyfall. While he was scrubbing the dirt and dust off his arms, he sang a little song that his mother used to sing to him. He didn’t cry—though to think of her made him sad—because the egg was his and that is how you take care of things you love and hope will love you back, with a gentle touch and a soft voice and whatever you can dredge up in your memory to help. He sang the little song and then, since the egg was clean, gave it a little kiss, just a goodnight peck on the cheek.

“There my little egg. Now that you’re squeaky clean, it’s off to bed with you for a little story and then right to sleep.” He imagined the egg groaning as much as he used to.

He dried himself enough to not be dripping and then carefully dried the egg. “There little one. All dried off and ready for bed. Hop to it.”

He carried the egg to his bedroom and stood there, holding it. He’d thought to make it a nest by the fire, but it always burned out during the night and hit beastly cold in the wee hours. Best to put it under a blanket with him then. It took some awkward wriggling, but James finally got himself and the egg under a thick wool blanket. Whenever he got too warm, he would stick a leg and arm out from under the blanket to cool off in the chilly night air. But he kept the rest of him wrapped around the egg, holding it close, keeping it warm.

————————

James knew that after incubation came hatching. He worried the egg would hatch while he was at school. He knew it wouldn’t be a quick or clean or simple process, but it wrenched his stomach to think of him missing a moment of his chick breaking out of its claustrophobic shell.

From the very first morning, he observed the ritual of laying his hands on the egg, and pressing his mouth against the smooth glossy shell and saying, “Wait. Please wait. I have to go to school. Please wait for me. Please please please don’t hatch while I’m at school.”

And then he’d sit back and continue, “I know you can hear me. Well, I’m pretty sure of it. Kincade says ducklings somehow know to hatch at the same time. Not yet not yet not yet.”

And from that very first Monday, the Monday _after,_ James stopped getting in fights at school, well, there were a couple of times he had his fist drawn back before it connected, _he had to get home,_ and he would drop his fists and straighten up, shaking off the anger. He could feel the disgust on his face, and he would growl, “You’re not worth my time,” because he wanted to get home to his egg as soon as possible. And detentions kept him from home. He stopped mucking around with his homework because Mrs. Kincade would make him sit at the table until he finished it _correctly._ And he didn’t have time to waste on a battle of wills anymore, he had to look after his egg.

James didn’t want to leave his egg, but he trusted the Kincades. They looked after him and did a much better job than his aunt would have. And when he asked Mrs. Kincade to please stay out of his room, she didn’t say no or even ask why, she had said, “Aye, Jamie. And you’ll please be replenishing the wood pile.”

James had gotten a cheeky grin and said, “You’re always on me to stay warm, Mrs. Kincade. I finally listened.”

She had looked over her glasses at him, and said, “Joyfully following instructions, now I know you’re up to no good, lad.”

A bit desperate, he had clutched her hand.

She said, “Don’t worry, Jamie. I’ll stay out of your room.”

He had hugged her and then run off to grab his things for school.

—————————

Later, she pulled her husband aside. “Whenever we discover what’s struck the lad's fancy, whatever it is, we will not bat an eye.”

”But what if—“ 

”Ye hear me?”

His shoulders slumped, “Yes, I hear.”

”I don’t care if it’s the Queen of the Fae herself, we will not bat an eye.”

—————————

Once school let out for the summer, James felt a thousand times lighter. He half expected to find himself floating three inches above the ground.

He had never been so quick and efficient with chores in his life.

And then came the day! It was a Tuesday. He was patting and talking to the egg in that soothing tone when he felt a quiver. He put his ear to the egg and listened, and then turned his mouth near it. “Hello in there. Can you hear me?”

He felt another quiver. “Hello darling. I’m ever so anxious to meet you.” 

James came running downstairs with a wild look in his eye. “I can’t do my chores today!” Then he grabbed two piping hot scones, tossing them back and forth between his hands and then an apple and high tailed it back up the stairs.

“How’s that different than any other day?” Kincade grumbled.   
His wife eyed Kincade. “Prepare yourself.” 

Kincade gave a forced smile that said “We’re in for it now!” like the one he used when his mother-in-law sang for them at Christmas. And his wife laughed like he knew she would and he was pleased because he so loved to hear it.

——————

James skidded to a halt in front of the egg. He gave it a reassuring pat and coo. “I just had to beg off chores and grab some brekkie.”

James ate his breakfast and then resumed his stroking and soothing chatter while he waited. 

And waited and waited. Mrs. Kincade brought a plate of sandwiches and a pitcher of water to his door at lunch time.

It wasn’t until nearly four o’clock that it started to peep, and there was something magical about hearing _his_ chick inside the still intact egg. He called in response.

His voice was high and excited. He switched it to something, if not much lower, then at least softer and soothing. He tried for coaxing reassuring words. 

Kincade had explained to him once that a clutch of duck eggs somehow _knew_ when it was time to hatch. And that way the hen could take them all to safety at once. He said it must be that the eggs could talk to each other.

James held his ear close to the egg and heard a peculiar clicking noise. It had been six hours since the first peep. James clicked back, as best he could.

It was taking forever. James was afraid to do anything to help. How did birds do it? With their voice of course. James would coax it out with words. 

He listened to his chick, for surely it was a chick, trying to crack its way out for hours. He practically had to sit on his hands.

“You have to do this bit on your own.” 

_Indignant peep._

“Well, no, I’m not sure. But I think so.” 

_Concentrated peep peeping that sounded fairly irate._

“I really don’t think I’m allowed to help.”

The peeping sounded like it was coming from the same place. It lasted until finally there was a small hole. James put his eye close to look inside and a beautiful green eye stared back. And did he get such a scolding! 

_Lift this off! Can’t you see I’ll be here all day at this rate?!_ is what it _sounded_ like.

His chick sounded more than a bit like when Mrs. Kincade scolded him for being a lazy sod.

James shrugged and gave the top of the egg a little lift. It hung up on the back side. He gave the spot a gentle tap and said in his nice voice, “More just here.”

He heard a slight huff, then what sounded like slight wriggling inside the egg, and then he _felt_ a vibrating tap under his index finger until there was a slight giving way. He took a deep breath and gave the top of the egg a gentle lift.

Intelligent green eyes met blue. It _was_ a chick, with a strange mix of inky black feathers and some down. It was nothing like anything James had ever seen. It was _beautiful._ James was so relieved it wasn’t helpless like a songbird all pink skin and bulbous eyes, he laughed.

The chick chittered back and then gave the remaining shell a grumpy kick. James could feel it when the last of the egg shell fell away, this new _bond._ He was the chick’s as much as the chick was _his._

Still, his newly hatched chick was wet and looked weak and exhausted. He was glad he’d kept the fire going, even if he was practically broiling.

“Hello, Sweetheart. I’m so glad to meet you.”

The chick made a “cc-cc” sound.

James ran his thumb over the sharp little egg tooth at the tip of its beak, “That’s how you got out so quickly.”

The extended eye contact made James’ heart feel as warm as the room.

His chick wobbled a few steps, all scrawny wings and gangly legs, and James, he felt so _proud_ right up until he realized it was heading straight for the side of his bed. 

James blocked its plummet and said, “You need to get a good sense of what an edge is.”

_Squawk._

James still felt some pride that it would need his protection and care.

He placed it gently on the floor closer to the fire, so it might dry off and keep warm. The sight of his chick fluffing up warmed his heart into a big ladle of goo. Its black head feathers were ridiculously unruly. And the down looked so soft, he couldn’t wait to nuzzle his chick.

“Now you must stay away from the fire,” James said. “It would hurt you very badly.”

His chick gave him such a look! And then it edged closer to the fire! Now James was the one who squawked. The chick—it sounded like it sighed—finally wobbled away from the fire and closer to James.

He stroked the down on its belly. “Please be careful. I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.”

Then his chick was nudging his fingers with its beak, and then it was wobbling closer, and James picked it up and held it. And the chick was nudging at his tear-stained cheeks with its beak.

“I want you to be safe,” James whispered, “Let me take care of you.”

The chick gave a little shiver.

“I’m a little worried about you maintaining your body heat, little one.”

The chick made another “cc-cc” noise.

“Coo?”

The chick nudged him.

“Q?”

The chick gave a happy worble.

He said, “Let’s keep you warm,” and snuggled it against his chest. 

For the first time in months and months and months, James was _happy._


	2. The Next Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning has broken…to reveal fluffy fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should eat breakfast before I write breakfast. My mind is a breakfastless blank, so thanks for reading.

James woke from his doze. It wasn’t yet daylight. He gave the fluff ball a pat and said, “I’ll be right back.”

The baby bird gave an indignant squawk. And when James’ warmth didn’t immediately return, its eyes welled up, and its sweet curved beak trembled.

James came back because of course he did. “Oh now,” he said, ruffling its head feathers “What’s this fuss, hmmm?”

The hatchling gave a smaller but still indignant squawk.

“Yes well, I wasn’t actually leaving you. I just needed to use the loo.”

The bird snuggled closer.

“Oh fine.” James held out his arms. “Up you get.”

James was nervous about bringing Q downstairs to meet the Kincades, but now that Q had hatched, he didn’t feel the overwhelming need for secrecy anymore. There was nothing for it.

“I’d like you to meet someone, Q,” he said, stroking the bird’s downy breast. When Q didn’t squawk, James lifted him up and headed downstairs.

James so liked sneaking up on people. He stood a few moments, watching from the kitchen doorway. The Kincades were facing away from him, well settled in their morning routine. 

“Good morning. I have someone I would like you to meet,” James said.

“Will we need to go far?” Mrs. Kincade asked without looking up from her chopping board.

Kincade reached for the cabinet where he kept the whisky and got his fingers rapped with a wooden spoon for his trouble.

James laughed, he couldn’t help it. “No, but you might want to turn around.”

“I’d like you to meet Q. He’ll be living with us.” James said, lifting the hatchling in his arms.

Mrs. Kincade turned and said, “What a beautiful…and unusual…bird?”

“Well, that explains the firewood,” Kincade said in his low gruff voice.

She gave her husband’s knuckles an apologetic rub and told him, “Fetch me a glass while you’re at it.”

He returned with a bottle of whisky and three glasses. He poured James a dram and a healthy measure for him and his wife.

“This calls for celebrating, eh laddie?”

James sat and adjusted Q on his lap so he could reach for his glass. Q stuck his beak in it. He couldn’t reach the tiny bit of whisky, but must have caught the scent because he made a noise that sounded like what a bird would do if it could cough, his feathers puffed up, and he slowly turned in a comical fashion to look up at James.

“That’s an actual dram, mind you. Barely a taste,” James said.

Q clucked, _clucked!_ at him!

Kincade made the toast, “To Q!”

They clinked glasses and drank. James hugged Q close.

“Well, now that you’ve had your whisky, I reckon you’d best eat some breakfast,” Mrs. Kincade said, but then she got tickled and it was some time before she could get out, “I was just imagining Charmian’s face when Jamie announces he drinks whisky for breakfast.”

Kincade gave a great laugh, but James was upset at the thought, “She’s not coming _here_ is she?!” he asked with no small amount of horror.

“No, don’t you worry, Jamie. She’s not coming here and you don’t have to go there.”

James sat back in relief and caressed the feathers on Q’s head into some sort of arrangement.

”Like to give a person a heart attack,” he said, but then gave a little laugh. “I can just see her face though. Right up with the time I told her I was moving into the barn with my pony for the summer.”

Mrs. Kincade brought three plates with eggs, Lorne sausage, bacon, baked beans and tattie scones, and a plate with lettuce, peas, kale, and oats. James told them little bits about his time with Q so far. Q was content to eat lettuce from James’ hand, but once James picked up the tattie scone, Q was up and stretching to get a bite. James laughed at the insistent chick, but Q turned beseeching green eyes on him and his inky black head feathers _wilted_ and he gave a disconsolate cheep and James had never sought to make up to someone so fast in his _life._ He broke pieces off the scone and offered them to his chick who immediately gobbled them up.

James laughed and said, “Easy, Q. Leave some fingers!” 

Mrs. Kincade was never one to miss an opportunity. “Set a good example and eat some fruit, James,” and “Eat some lettuce, James. Let your chick see how much you like it.”

James was pretty sure Q was laughing at him. He’d never liked plain lettuce, but he supposed he could make a point of eating it now. Q sure ate more if James was the one who started eating it first.

This set the tone for future meals. Finally Q got so he would sit in James’ lap and peck at James’ plate, but he always wound up being hand fed sooner rather than later. James didn’t mind. He liked it, caring for his fluffy Q.

“Perhaps Q would like his own chair and plate?” Mrs. Kincade once offered.

Such was the offended look on Q’s face! It could only be out done by the horrified look on James’.

Q sat in James’ lap and that was _that._


	3. Helper Q

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q helps with chores. Surely James Bond has always been in want of supervision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Zephyrfox for looking over this fluffy fluff.

Early on, Q was very interested in James speaking. He would nuzzle up against James’ throat to feel the vibrations. And when he would stop speaking or singing, Q would flop him in the ribs to continue.

James worked his way through all of the songs his mother had sung to him, the bawdy ones he had learned on the playground, and the folk songs Mrs. Kincade sang while she worked. When Q wanted him to repeat a song he especially liked, he would tip his head back and study him and then bow his head and rub it against James’ chin. When it was a song he usually liked but didn’t want to hear _today,_ he would squawk over James until he stopped singing. When it was a song he _really_ didn’t like, Q would flop his wing against James’ mouth and James would make a big deal out of pretending to spit out feathers. And then Q would poke his wing tip at James’ neck which Q _knew_ tickled like the dickens, and James would laugh and laugh until finally he could stop laughing long enough to tackle Q, but _gently,_ and then Q would squawk in mock outrage and nip a bit at James with his beak. And James would playscold him for being _uncultured_ and then Q would _chase_ James around like an attack goose. It was such fun, James made sure to sing one of those songs every single day. 

But it was the reading that really lit their world on fire. James had _always_ read to Q from that very first night. James’ mother had read to him, and gosh how he missed that, along with everything else about her, but he really missed her voice and the way she held him close and the soft scent of her perfume. Now he was the big one taking care of a little one, so he bathed his egg and read to his egg and kept it close and warm. 

Reading to his egg, warmed him inside, but once Q hatched, and turned those big green eyes on him, impatiently nudging the book with his beak, the happy trill Q made when James started saying the magic words _once upon a time,_ and the absolute shit fit Q had when James skipped a line or started reading again from the wrong spot—James felt like a nest of snakes wriggling in the hottest summer sun, but cuddly. The feeling didn’t really make sense to him either, but he sure liked it. 

James’ chick went with him _everywhere._ Q toddled along behind James doing chores. The first few times, his chick was fairly silent, as if he was observing, but then soon enough Q was the one trying to run the show. James could swear his chick _listened_ to Kincade recite James’ chore list. When James decided to take a lazy moment between chores, Q would often flutter his wings in annoyance and then hop to the next destination and James had to scamper after him. And then! Sometimes Q corrected him! James would have been quite put out if the chick wasn’t so adorable. The one time James skipped the pigs to go see his pony, you would have thought James had tried to burn down the house, such was the telling off he got! 

“I’m still going to feed the pigs, Q.”

Q flapped his wings and squawked at James and practically herded him back towards the pigsty. His black feathers were all fluffed out and somehow he managed to look a bit scary even though he was _such_ a marshmallow. Still, James had seen what that beak could do to seeds.

“All right! All right!” James yelped, “I’m going! I’m going!”

Q loved chores, but he seemed to have mixed feelings on the livestock. He was wary of the horses and ponies, which James thought perfectly understandable. He liked the lambs, but not the ewes. He was oddly aloof with other birds. He kept his distance from the pigs, but was insistent they were looked after. James puzzled over it aloud at breakfast one morning and Kincade snorted into his tea. Just when James started to sulk at being kept in the dark, Kincade flipped a bit of bacon across the table and Q lunged for it. 

“See laddie? Your clever bird knows where his bacon comes from.”

Q _loved_ cats, but the cats did _not_ love him. Probably because he enthusiastically chased them, trying to get closer. Vanishing cats were the surest way for James to have a pouting chick on his hands. James solved that by poking around the barn to drag out the kittens. Q was in heaven! He nudged James over to the corner he sometimes sat in, flapped his scrawny wings to be picked up, arranged himself just so and then nodded for James to hand over the kittens. James tucked the kittens into his lap beside Q, and the chick gave a satisfied wiggle and nuzzled each kitten with his beak. 

“Just had to get young ones who didn’t know any better.” 

Q and the kittens became great pals and James enjoyed the new mandatory break in his chore time. 

James quickly took to carrying a sack. Q was forever wanting him to cart something along for him, and his pockets didn’t cut it. James looked over today’s collection: small twigs, spider webs, assorted lichen and some string pieces too small for much else other than getting tangled with the other odd bits in the kitchen junk drawer. 

“Are you sure you’re not a magpie?”

Q glared at him, but his beak was so full of yet more lichen, that he dared not squawk lest he drop some. Q had a look of hellfire in his eyes and none too gently nudged James’ arm that held the sack. 

James dutifully held it open, but before Q could release the grey green strands of lichen, James said, “You shit on my shoes again and I’m going to shit in your sack.”

Q gave such a shocked _squawk_ that all of the carefully gathered lichen fell out of his beak, but James was lightning fast and caught every last bit in the sack. Then Q’s feathers drooped, and he turned.

James caught him gently around the breast. “Now I know you insisted that was an accident, but we’re all aware that you’re clever. So I just don’t want you getting any ideas in that clever clever head of yours.”

Q wouldn’t look at him. 

“Just because you can’t talk like I do doesn’t mean you can’t make your point perfectly clear.” Then James added, “Without soiling my footwear.”

Q rubbed his head against James’ throat. The silky feathers tickled. 

James tipped his head and spoke into Q’s head feathers, “I know you’re not anything so boring and dull as a magpie. You’re brilliant, Q. I’m sure I haven’t even begun to discover how smart you are.”

Q preened for a bit, but then deflated into a pout. 

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose. And I hope you know I’d never actually shit in your sack. That’s where your special things go.” James tipped Q’s head up gently, just enough so they made eye contact. “But don’t think I doubt for a moment that if you put your mind to it, you could lead the animals in an open rebellion against us. I’ve seen you eyeing the gates.”

Q touched his beak to the top of James’ nose. 

“Never forget for a moment that I’m at your side, Q.” 

They nuzzled for a bit, and then James held up the sack and said, “These will make fine additions to your nest.” At least that’s what James figured it was. Each day Q would tuck and weave new treasures around the bed. “Come on, let’s head in before you get chilled and try climbing in my jacket.

Q really did get easily cold, so at night, James had to keep him bundled up in bed with him, but it was as much so he wouldn’t cry as freeze.

This was James’ favorite—lying in bed, Q tucked into his side, burrowing for warmth. He couldn’t wait for the indignant squawk when it was time to rouse Q in the morning. If he was lucky, Q would give a furious harrumph and perch on James’ chest and scowl. Christ, he lived for that scowl. And James would have to bite his lip so he wouldn’t laugh and give a buck just hard enough to make it look like he was trying but not so hard to actually dislodge the little fluff ball of fury. 

Q made an unhappy noise in his sleep and James smoothed his curly feathers and hushed him. “Shhh, I’ve got you little one.” 

And things were gloriously fine. Until they weren’t. 


	4. Poor Wee Chick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James looks after his poor wee chick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Zephyrfox for looking over this fluffy fluff.

James awoke to a scraggly wing poking him in the face and a glassy green eye staring into his. It was all downhill from there. Q was unsettled, so James was unsettled. Q whined or what James had decided was the avian equivalent of whining. He wanted something else for breakfast, but then it turned out he really didn’t want that after all. He wanted to go outside, until they’d crossed the threshold, and then he couldn’t get back inside fast enough. He was cold and he wanted James. He was a rather grumpy chick.

Finally, Mrs. Kincade said, “Go on and snuggle him by the fire. Poor tyke seems out of sorts this morning.”

James took Q upstairs to their room, put another log on the fire, and refluffed their pillow nest, so he could lean back against the headboard and snuggle Q against his chest. 

“Poor unhappy wee chick,” James said softly, gently stroking Q. 

James could tell Q was trying to settle, but couldn’t. He kept up the soft soothing. Q let out a pained noise and some feathers came loose against James’ hand. James looked down at the feathers in shock. 

“Sorry! Sorry! Did I hurt you? I don’t know how I…”

Q snuggled closer and gave that avian whine and James pulled back the blanket and saw more inky feathers scattered across the bedding. He went incandescent with fear. 

James came running down the stairs with Q in his arms, and skidded to a halt in the kitchen. 

Q half-heartedly raised his head. “Mrrp?”

“Something’s wrong! Something’s wrong with Q!” James exclaimed. 

Mrs. Kincade dropped her work and came over at once. 

“What seems to be the trouble, Jamie?”

“He’s losing feathers! I was gently petting him. I didn’t pull them out! I wouldn’t hurt him!”

She patted James on his shoulder. “There, there, lad. We all know you’d never hurt your chick. Come on and let me see.”

James held Q away from him, but not too far. 

She looked at Q’s back and clucked. “How are you feeling Q?”

Q gave that avian whine and tucked his beak back into James’ armpit.

“Well, if he’s losing feathers and grumpy, there’s a good chance he’s moulting,” she said. 

“So soon?”

“I think it’s fair to say that Q is quite a special chick. We don’t know what’s normal for his…kind. Let’s just keep him warm and comfortable. I’ll bring up food and water and it’ll be available if he wants it, but don’t force him.”

James’ shoulders slumped. “Thank you.”

“You’re taking good care of him, Jamie. Q knows that.” She tousled James’ hair. She held her hand over Q’s back, but then thought better of it. 

James snuggled the restless Q as best he could and fretted through the night. Burying his face in Q’s down and holding him tight but not too tight, James fought sleep as long as he could. Q seemed more settled with James wrapped around him, but he was still fidgety. James tried to stay awake, but it was like something of great weight was pushing him under, down under a heavy blanket of sleep. And he slept and slept. 

**~~~00Q~~~**

James came awake to a finger stroking his ear.

James gave his head a little shake and grumbled, “Mum.” 

After a moment, his eyes shot open. Green eyes were staring into his from rather close. 

“Q?” James said.

Q gave an indignant _Who else?_ chirp. 

James looked at Q and exclaimed, “Your wings!”

Q gave a wobbly wave with his new scrawny _arms._

“Where’d your wings go?!”

Q leaned in with his _don’t be stupid_ expression and then poked James in the nose with a new slender _finger._

“And hands!” James exclaimed, “You have hands!” And then he asked, “Am I dreaming?”

Q pinched him, right on the cheek. 

“Ow!” James said, rubbing the now sore spot. 

Q made to wobble off James’ lap, but James came to his senses and took a gentle hold of him. “Oh Q! I’m just surprised is all. I didn’t expect to wake up to you with arms and hands! I was so worried that you were sick.” He held him more closely. “Mrs. Kincade was right, I suppose it was a sort of moulting.” 

Q cheeped. 

“Of course I’m pleased!” James said, running his fingers over the new arms. 

Q shivered, his head feathers rustled with the movement. 

“Should I stop?”

Q nipped him with his beak, right on the upper arm!

“Ow! You could just shake your head, you know.”

Q reared his head back and looked at him. 

“Well, can’t you?”

Q wobbled his head from side to side. 

“Close enough,” James said. “That one means ‘no’. Now, should I stop touching your arms?”

Q gave his head another wobbly shake. 

James smiled, and nudged him to come closer if he wished to. And Q did wish to. James gently caressed the new skin with wonder, and then he examined each new finger with such adoration, he felt his heart would burst. 

Q petted James’ hair, and gently tugged on his ears, but Q seemed the most fascinated with James’ lips and mouth. He spent at least five minutes feeling James’ teeth.

About 20 minutes later, there was a soft tap at the door. 

James called, “Come in.”

Mrs. Kincade stepped just inside and said, “I just brought some fresh water and lettuce and wanted to check on Q.”

Q didn’t raise his head from James’ chest, he just raised his new arm and gave a weak thumbs up. 

James gave her credit for not dropping the tray. He didn’t think anything could truly make Mrs. Kincade miss a step. 

“That must have been hard and thirsty work. Best stay in bed. I’ll bring your meals and extra water. Be sure to drink plenty. That goes for you too, James.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kincade.”

That quiet resting cuddle didn’t last much past early afternoon. Q was quite intent on trying out his new arms and fingers, and James was at least a little glad to no longer be the only thing poked and pinched and prodded. 

First, Q touched and lifted most everything not nailed down in their room. It was slow and shaky at first, but Q began to get the hang of it. 

When Q made to hop down the stairs, James scooped him up and thought he might want to go to the kitchen next. But as soon as he sat Q down on his lap at the table, Q hopped down and made for the door. James scurried after to open it for him. Q made a beeline for the barn. Once inside, he made a  _ well go on then  _ gesture toward the kittens’ usual hiding spot. James dutifully retrieved the kittens and sat in his usual corner. Q climbed into his lap, this time steadying himself by grabbing James’ shoulders. After Q was settled, James held the kittens in front of Q, so he could stroke them with his new slender fingers. Q gave such a happy and contented warble, James felt like his heart would melt clean out of his chest. He placed a kiss right in the center of Q’s unruly headfeathers. 

**  
  
  
**

**  
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	5. Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fluff. Soft cuddly fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this may be more of a cotton ball than an actual chapter, but I figured someone could use some fluff. I've been wanting to write for weeks, but there's been too much going on. Have a soft fluffy cuddle.
> 
> As always, thanks to ZephyrFox.

With a sigh, James stopped nuzzling Q’s headfeathers.

He said, “C’mon, Q. Up you get,” and tapped Q’s new elbow. “We’ve chores.”

Q crossed his arms. 

“But first we’d better get you fed or Mrs. Kincade will have my hide.” 

Q handed the kittens to James to set down, and then he took James’ hand and pulled him toward the lodge. 

No wonder he was in such a hurry. It looked like Mrs. Kincade had cooked all of Q’s favorites. Q sat on James’ lap and patiently ate the lunch James fed him. Well, as patiently as Q ever got during mealtimes. James ran his fingers down Q's soft feathered back every now and then. He didn't think too hard about whether it was more to settle him or Q. Q’s fingers clung to James’ shirt the entire time. He liked that slight pull, that connection. James wondered what possessed Kincade to make what must have been a big fire. It was awfully warm in the kitchen.

After he finished brushing the crumbs from Q's feathers, James asked for his list of chores. Mrs. Kincade shooed them upstairs saying, “You should rest up. There will be plenty of chores tomorrow.” 

Q spent a lot of time wandering around upstairs, touching and lifting things and James explained what things were and how they worked and got away with petting Q as much as possible. He couldn’t help it, Q’s feathers were so _soft._

That night instead of being lifted into James’ lap for a story, Q climbed up himself. James missed it a bit and not just because Q had tugged on his ears! Before he could start reading, Q took James’ hand and placed it on the page. 

“Yes, Q. I am going to read you a story now.”

Q tapped the page with his finger. 

“Yes, this is the page.”

Q poked him in the nose. 

“Okay. I see you’re getting impatient. But you don’t have to take it out on me.”

Q poked him in the throat, but gently this time at least. 

James began, “Once upon a time” and he had been poked no less than five times by the time he got to the end of the phrase. 

Finally James realized that Q wanted him to hold Q’s hand and point with Q’s index finger to each word as he read it. Things went a lot more smoothly after that. When the story was finished, Q would move James’ index finger along a page and point. Then James would read the word aloud. They did that forever, but James didn't mind so much. 

When it was bedtime, James was relieved when Q didn’t try to climb up on his own. He didn’t want him to hurt himself. Just like when Q used to raise his wings when he wanted to be lifted up into bed, he lifted his arms and James scooped him up and settled him on the bed.

Once they were finally situated under the blankets, Q curled up in his arms like always, but with his new hands pressed against James’ chest. James stroked his soft feathered back until Q fell asleep. Then James curled his hands around Q's sweet new little fingers and smiled himself to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely adore “Eye of Your Storm” by Only_1_Truth. When I saw the prompt for James hatching an egg, it made me think of smol fluffy baby bird Q as he was often called in that story, or at least in the notes and comments. What if he actually was more of a bird?
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284153/chapters/48084229
> 
> Stay tuned for more smol, fluffy baby bird Q.
> 
> Prompt: James finds a big egg and hatches it.


End file.
